200 Meters
by Panthersturm
Summary: Short story in which an Orussian witch crashes over the city of Graz in Ostmark during the evacuation in 1939


Late September, 1939

Graz, Ostmark

Senior Lieutenant Nikol Gulayev

4th Air Army, Orussian Air Force

Nikol looked down to the ground below her as the roar of her Ilyushiin Il-2 Sturmovik strikers gradually faded away. Overrun with enemies as her unit was protecting an evacuation convoy, a stray shot managed to hit her strikers and knock them out, sending her plumiting to the earth. She knew that the fall wouldn't kill her, as most witches crashe at least once in to their career, but she knew that there was no one to rescue her, it would be on her to make it to back to Graz and to the evac site.

Her strikers were completely dead by the time she hit the ground, so she wasn't able to use her shield to lessen the impact. When she hit the ground she hit ground hard, breaking an arm, a leg, a few ribs, and getting some serious abrasions from skidding across the ground. She landed about 200 meters from city, but she knew the no one would come, the people there were desperate, fleeing their homes and livelihoods against a horrifying enemy which destroyed everything in its path. They were in shock, fear, no one was in the mindset to run in the direction of the enemy to rescue a foreigner they didn't know. Sure they fealt bad, but they were too busy with their family, even hesitating to help friends.

She tried to get up up, but the damage was too great. So she laid there, soaking in blood, looking into the sky and watching as other pilots came crashing down, likely to face the same fate. It wasn't such a bad place to die, she though, it was a lovely grass field of tall grass and flowers, with a lovely view of the mountains and sunset in the distance, and as for the pain, she didn't feel it anymore, as long as she didn't move. Nikol wasn't the kind of person who wanted to die in bed, frail and incapable of going on without the care of others, she wanted to die in battle, so that way she'd be remembered fondly as a lively young girl and as a war hero, she had just hoped it wouldn't have been so soon. She had wanted to at least become an officer first, lead her own unit, train the next generation of soldiers.

Thinking this she started to realise an early and epic death was not what she yearned for, but rather she wished for a full and enriching life. She had wanted to live her one day as a lion, rather than 100 as a sheep, never realizing there were more options till now. But, she thought, that realization came too late. When you think about it, its funny, how we always tend to find the best solution after the fact. Perhaps it's because, after the choice, we don't feel the anxiety of decision making, and are able to look at it with a sense of reason and rationality.

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and as she looked up she saw a young man, probably no older than her. She didn't believe it, thinking it some sick hallucination brought on by her mind after hitting her head. But as she was lifted off the ground and started moving to the city, it set in that this was reality. "huh?" she asked, not hearing anything come out as she opened her mouth, now realizing the world around her was silent.

She was brought into a home and placed on the couch. As the young man set off to the other room, coming back with bandages, a bowl of water, and a rag. "Mach dir keine Sorgen, ich kann dir helfen." he said, and while she had regained some hearing, she couldn't understand the language he spoke, though she recognized "helfen" as help. "Mein Vater war Arzt, ich sollte diche behandeln können" he said reassuringly, or at least she thought.

He started to unbutton Nikols uniform, his face turning red halfway through upon realizing what he was doing, though he continued as he was reminded that she was dying, and such a trivial embarrassment should not halt his efforts. He removed her uniform, and with the water soaked cloth began to clean the blood and dirt from her wounds, met with a slight moan of pain from the Orussian pilot. After cleaning he was able to bandage the wounds, realising they were simple(though not superficial) abrasions from the rough landing she had made. "Bleib hidr, währens ich jemanden aus der orussischen Armee finde" he said before taking off.

And she was alone again, though this time she was not stranded in a field bleeding to death, she was resting on the couch of the young Ostmark(check that) man's home. She wished to stay awake until he had come back, but feeling tired from anemia she eventually fell asleep. The Ostmark man returned, followed by a man in a khaki suit with a forage cap, and behind him two infantrymen in uniforms of the same color, the second of which carrying a bag denoting him as a medic. The man with the bag, the medic, walked over to couch to check on her. "He did as good as job as I could do, but we should still get her to a doctor" he said in orussian to the officer, after giving a quick examination. He nodded, turning to the Ostmark man "Thank you friend, without you we would have lost her". And with that the infantrymen carried her out, taking her on there convoy to be flown back to Orussia, where she would recover and soon fly again.


End file.
